


streetlight

by snorlaxx



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: "smurf", Flirty, Freeform, M/M, Minho mentioned - Freeform, They're cute, binsung, bluesung, changbin is a musical genius, changbin's hurting, han solo tease, i hope i did streetlight justice, minchan implied, stream streetlight, streetlight soty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:35:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24389008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snorlaxx/pseuds/snorlaxx
Summary: empty bleachers don't clap. until they do.
Relationships: Bang Chan/Lee Minho | Lee Know, Han Jisung | Han/Seo Changbin
Comments: 12
Kudos: 80





	streetlight

**THE** MAESTRO, THEY called him in excited whispers behind hands, accompanied by giggles. 

changbin often sat in the crowd, observing the reactions people exhibited whenever chan performed. he never needed to look at the stage, he'd seen chan rehearse the moves sick almost a billion times. he knew his routine. he predicted his spontaneity. the crowd, however, he could never predict. they laughed and they cried and they sang along, each in their own unique way and it always caught him off guard. the theatre and the stage were incomplete without an audience. 

the sudden cacophonous uproar meant chan had ended with a flair, stealing hearts and breaths and moments. chan’s eyes swept over the crowd, in search of something (or, rather, someone) he knew wasn’t there. the honey curled boy would not be here tonight. minho would not be here tonight. instead, chan found refuge in changbin’s slow applause and eyes that said;  _ you fucking made this crowd your bitch, mate.  _

chan grinned,  _ fuck you, meet me backstage,  _ before taking his leave. changbin and chan had this elaborate system of eye reading they’d adopted without realising, which meant it took them a single offhanded glance to share a multitude of stories. he slipped backstage, seeking his very sweaty and very blond friend. 

their eye reading mechanism meant the show would not be discussed. there was nothing to discuss. chan would collapse on his shorter companion who would complain about chan’s sweatiness and blondness, the two would proceed to talk about a great many  _ nothings  _ and  _ somethings _ until chan received a tirade of cursed texts from his boyfriend, demanding his presence at home and some thai takeout. Chan would comply, but not before fist bumping his best man and uttering enthusiastic farewells to whoever intercepted his path.

chan’s departure had an adverse effect on changbin. his eyes became unreadable and his exterior breakable.  _ frail as glass _ , changbin mused.

then, hardly thirty minutes after, the theatre was empty and yet something compelled changbin to stay. he should have left. there was no reason to stay. right?

he stayed. something in the way magic seemed like a possible feat within these walls. something in the way the air felt lonely. something in the way the stage was illuminated by a single beam of light, it's source somewhere overhead. a bright spot in a world of darkness. something about the way he fit in so impeccably with the monochromatic landscape: his attire a mixture of bright and dark fringes, his hair resembling the remnants of an aggressive bonfire. 

he gravitated towards the stage, edging closer like a moth attracted to a flame. in the back of his mind, he made a connection. 

during his high school days, he had to take an early bus to school and always waited for it under a streetlight. god knew he was fucking terrified of the dark, the potential of monsters taking refuge in its veil offset a childhood fear, and the streetlight had been his sole haven. changbin smiled a little, thoughts drifting back to when chan had begun joining him at his streetlight in sophomore year (it wasn't even chan's route to school, he just wanted to stay with his best friend), how it seemed that a little more voltage was supplied to his particular streetlight in chan's honour. this time, he was in chan’s spotlight, chan’s streetlight.

he was at the bright, circular spot now, mere inches away from the microphone stand. he tried to channel chan's confidence, bring it into perspective, the melancholy of a magician ahead of his time. but changbin was no sorcerer, he was simply a boy.

and sometimes, that was enough.

changbin seized the mic, breathing like he was doing so for either the first or the last time. 

and then he sang, slow and inaudible, a mere whisper. whispers contained in lonesome theatres. thoughts liquidised into ink. ink put on paper in lyrical confessions. 

he’d written and composed this last night, drowning in coca cola mixed with americano (a poisonous concoction courtesy of bang chan’s inventive and destructive mind) and a million thoughts. the song was raw emotion.

his voice got stronger and soon, despite the mic not being turned on, his voice (or, pleas, for a lack of a better word) reverberated in the empty hall. lyrics speaking of loneliness and pain and hurt and hearts too heavy, too damaged. feeling too much and feeling too little.

changbin dislodged the mic from its stand, his raps getting harsher. emotions, changbin knew, were meant to be harsh. like the jagged ends of shattered glass. his voice was melted copper and titanium, simultaneously. three minutes and he was done. changbin kneeled, a little dizzy and painfully overwhelmed. his throat was sore, his heart even more so. 

this, it dawned on him, was how chan must feel. except chan had spectators, and changbin was alone. empty bleachers don’t applaud.

until they do.

the claps were little and gone before they started. changbin narrowed his eyes until his eyes caught a flash of blue. a burst of colour in an otherwise colourless tv. a blue breaking the uniform monochromaticity. a hydrangea in a cemetery. 

the blue ran, changbin gave chase. 

“halt, you fucking smurf!” changbin’s voice carried through the corridors, he did not have the slightest idea how he was channelling the ghost of oscar wilde but he was, what with his posh choice of words.

“i don’t want to go to jail, so no thank you,” the voice was definitely male. an extremely panicked male with an understandable fear of the justice system. changbin simply sprinted faster, thanking his track team coach for making him do extra laps (the man just couldn’t take criticism on his god-awful moustache).

the boy was small but not much of a runner. changbin had him by the waist in no time. 

“got you, fucker!”

“i’m too young to rot in prison,  _ please  _ let me go. i swear, i didn’t mean to stay! you just have a really beautiful voice and i got carried in, i guess.” the boy wriggled out of his grasp and landed on the floor, his whines resonating in the once deathly quiet corridors. he didn’t try to run, knowing he was well and truly fucked. 

changbin gave him a once-over, then a twice-over and then, a thrice-over because the smurf was rather cute. objectively speaking, of course. under the moonlight filtering through the stained window, he saw his eyes were blown wide open and his chest heaved. he was clothed in black denim and a white shirt and looked rowdy in comparison to changbin’s formal outfit. a messy mop of hair the colour of van gogh’s starry night sat atop his head (atlas was burdened by the sky but this boy seemed to carry it with pride).

“i won’t hand you over to the authorities, chill out dude.” the boy visibly relaxed, “what’s your name?”

“han jisung,” he mumbled, eyes flitting over changbin’s face in a shy endeavour. one moment he was loud and whiny, the other he was timid and shy. changbin couldn’t help the smile tugging at his lips. “hi, jisung.”

“my turn,” jisung said, despite the fact that changbin really didn’t think the interrogated had any right to interrogate the interrogator. “name?”

“seo changbin.”

“age?”

if changbin was offended, he hid it well. “19.”

“where do you live?” the sentence had barely left his tongue before he snapped his mouth shut, eyes blown wide. changbin cocked an eyebrow, apparently amused by the mess of a boy in front of him.

“in your heart.” a light crimson travelled from his neck to his cheeks at the shameless sentence and the equally shameless way changbin said it.

“god, that’s cheesy.” jisung was a glorious red under a canopy of blue. red and blue. fire and water.

“you initiated it,” changbin said, consciously ignoring his own colourlessness in jisung’s vibrant presence. that’s just who he was: a black and white theatre where colourful people performed. a canvas for someone to paint on.

“and if i initiate a mass murder, you’d follow up on that too?” jisung sat cross-legged now, neck craned to look at his standing companion.

“god, that’s macabre.” changbin moved to sit in front of him.

“you initiated it,” jisung retaliated.

“and if i initiate an intimate gesture, you’d follow up on that too?” changbin gave himself a pat on the back, watching jisung flush once more.  _ ’m flirting with a boy i just met, i bet you’re proud, christopher.  _ jisung looked unable to give a coherent answer other than a quick “shut up shakespeare.” to which changbin chuckled like a man who’d succeeded in a mission.

the silence that followed was charged, yet comfortable, giving changbin time to appreciate the moonlight cascading over jisung’s features, complimenting them. being the hopeless romantic that he was, he quite enjoyed this. the situation was scandalous and something straight out of a young adult novella.

“your lyrics . . . they seemed personal. i’m genuinely sorry for intruding,” jisung began, fingers fidgeting with the non existent cuffs of his oversized shirt. changbin looked down at his own unbuttoned cuffs, in a burst of confidence he placed his arm on jisung’s lap. 

it was hilarious, how affected he was at such a simple gesture. he looked from his arm to his face, unsure of what to do. 

“button them up, you look like you could use the distraction.” changbin’s gaze was trained on his face, watching the boy make slow work of his buttons. furrowed eyebrows, mouth pulled into a pout. 

“i didn’t mind. it was nice having an audience, for once.”

jisung resumed his routine of glancing back and forth between his face and arm. “if you’re hiring, i’d like to be your permanent audience.” jisung shoved his arm off his lap, bringing the second one to rest on it instead.

“i have requirements.”

“and i fit them.”

changbin burst into tinkling laughter, like water drip, drip, dripping and jisung followed suit. 

  
  
  


▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂

audiences are temporary and streetlights only turn on during the nighttime. but some people are forever. 

so when your best friend texts you “goodnight” you say it back, and when your best friend’s boyfriend sends you cat photos you tell him how adorable they are, and when the boy with the hair as blue as the night sky, the stars spilling into his eyes tells you “i’ll be here tomorrow” you hold onto that as tight as you can. and sure enough, he’s there.

he’s there. he’s there. he’s there.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> hh i hope you enjoyed it :^(
> 
>   
> twitter: @circehjs


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